


Field Medicine

by Alipeeps



Category: Timeless (TV 2016)
Genre: Episode Tag, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Missing Scene, Other, Whump, kinda graphic description of minor surgery
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-01
Updated: 2017-01-01
Packaged: 2018-09-13 23:26:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,586
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9146680
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alipeeps/pseuds/Alipeeps
Summary: Rufus looks after Wyatt : missing scene from episode 1x02 - The Assassination of Abraham Lincoln





	

**Author's Note:**

> Couldn't resist ficcing this missing scene cos, as lovely as the whump was in this episode, I always want more! :D And the idea of Rufus having to perform minor surgery on Wyatt without anaesthetic, and Wyatt being all stoic about it, was just too delicious to resist. 
> 
> My first Timeless fic so hope I got their voices right. All feedback welcomed. :)

“What happened?!”

“Nothing! Come on, go!”

Wyatt fired off a last couple of shots before turning and running after Lucy and Rufus, stumbling a little as he tried to press a hand to the burning pain in his side. They burst out into the main street and Lucy immediately skittered to a halt, her face pinched and anxious as she turned to face him.

“Wyatt?” she asked breathlessly. “Are you okay?”

He stumbled to a halt, hunching over with a grimace. 

“Wyatt?” Lucy was watching him worriedly and Rufus, hovering anxiously behind her, looked more than a little wild-eyed.

“Shit, man. Are you...?” 

“One sec...” he interrupted gruffly. 

He straightened up, flattening himself up against the wall, taking a minute to try and slow his breathing; the wound in his side throbbed angrily with every breath and he groaned, cursing Flynn’s lucky shot. He gritted his teeth and twisted his torso to peer quickly around the corner into the alleyway, checking behind them for any signs of pursuit. He ducked back. Nothing. He doubted Flynn would be foolish enough to chase after them in a public place but better safe than sorry. He fumbled to get his gun back into the holster, annoyed to find that his hand was shaking.

“Oh my god...” Lucy murmured hollowly. “Wyatt, you’re bleeding...” 

He looked down to find a smear of blood on his hand. He poked gingerly at the thick fabric of his tunic coat and found it already wet and sticky, his fingers coming away red. 

“Dude, did you get _shot_?!” Rufus, predictably, panicked.

“Yeah, a little bit.”

“A _little_ bit? Are you _kidding_ me?” 

Wyatt ignored Rufus’ disbelieving squeak; he had more urgent things to focus on. The wound felt fairly superficial – though it hurt like a sonofabitch – but they were a couple hundred years from any decent medical care and dying from sepsis really wasn’t high up on his list of things to do. He closed his eyes, tipping his head back. “Think, Logan,” he told himself. “Work with what you’ve got.”

What he’d got was a gunshot wound that needed patching. What he needed was a secure location, someone with a reasonably steady hand, and whatever medical supplies they could scrounge together. He grimaced, pressing a hand to the throb of pain in his side, and pushed himself off the wall with a grunt. 

“We need to get to off the street,” he ordered, looking around for options. “Somewhere we can hole up for a couple of hours.”

Lucy looked flustered, but only for a moment. “There’s uh... there’s a hotel, on Main Street,” she remembered. “We could take a room there?”

Wyatt nodded. Okay. Next problem. “And we’re gonna need some medical supplies.” 

“Medical supplies? In 1865?” Rufus asked incredulously.

“Yeah. “ He set off walking, heading up towards Main Street, gritting his teeth as each step pulled at the wound in his side. “We’re gonna need scissors, needle and thread, some kind of antiseptic...” 

He cast a glance at Lucy as she grabbed a handful of her dress, holding the ridiculous hooped skirts clear of her feet as she hurried to follow him. “Any ideas?”

“Oh, umm..” she thought for a second. “Iodine?”she grimaced. “That’s probably going to be your best bet. Tincture of iodine. You should be able to get it at a general store...” 

Iodine. Great.

“Okay. Rufus, find a store. Get iodine, needle, thread, pliers, scissors, anything else you think might be useful. Meet us at the hotel.”

“Oh!” Lucy raised a hand urgently. “We’ll check in under Wyatt’s name,” she told Rufus.

“Okay, okay...” Rufus nodded, muttering anxiously to himself “medical supplies , sure, I can do that...” He cast one last worried glance at Wyatt and then set off at a jog to find the store.

It wasn’t a long walk to the hotel but by the time they got there Wyatt was starting to feel cold and shivery despite the sweat beading his brow. The gunshot wound was a constant gnawing ache and any movement, like, for example, walking, caused the pain to spike and radiate outwards. His jaw ached from gritting his teeth.

Pretty much all his concentration went into putting one foot in front of the other without flinching. He was aware of the weight of Lucy’s anxious gaze on him as they walked but she didn’t speak until they neared the hotel. 

“We’re going to need a cover story,” she announced quietly. “There’s no way they’ll let an unmarried couple take a room together so unless you want to be my husband, I suggest we go with brother and sister.”

Wyatt smiled briefly, impressed by her forward-thinking. “Sure thing... sis,” he drawled and was rewarded with a brief eye roll.

It took every ounce of willpower he had to stand up straight and act casual at the check-in desk. The clerk seemed to take an age to write their names in the register and Wyatt could feel his breathing getting ragged, had to focus on breathing in and out, slowly and evenly.

“Oh, would it be possible to have a room on the ground floor?” Lucy smiled winningly at the clerk as he reached for a room key and Wyatt shot her a grateful look. He really didn’t feel up to stairs right now.

By the time the bell boy unlocked their room Wyatt was barely holding it together. He strode past the man without a word, only peripherally aware of his too interested stare, and immediately began to strip off the belt from around his tunic coat.

“Your brother looks to be at the fag end of things?” 

Wyatt answered the nosy question with a glare, uncomfortably aware of his clenched jaw and hunched posture, but Lucy, quick-witted as ever, deflected the bell boy’s interest.

“Poor digestion’s all,” she reassured, giving him a large enough tip to send him away satisfied.

She closed the door quickly, but Wyatt was already stripping off his coat, letting it drop to the floor. Lucy watched him with unconcealed worry as he shrugged out of his suspenders with a groan and pulled his bloodied shirt free of his pants.

“Where the hell’s Rufus with these supplies?” he gritted.

“You need a real doctor.” Lucy fretted.

“To do what? Leech me?” No thanks. What 1865 considered medicine would do him more harm than good.

Holding the shirt clear of the wound, he gave it an experimental prod, hissing out a breath at the flare of pain. As he’d thought, it was messy but shallow. And just to further complicate things, there was no exit wound. Just great. The bullet wasn’t deep – he could feel it under the skin as he palpated – but it was going to have to come out.

He tried to shrug out of his shirt but lifting his arms up hurt like hell and he had to ask Lucy for help, “Get this off me...”

“Okay, okay...” Lucy’s voice was breathless, panicked.

She pulled the shirt free but even with her help it hurt like hell, leaving him gasping and wincing. Examining the wound again only confirmed his suspicions. Dammit. Back home this would be an easy fix but here he had two options, each of them shitty: leave the bullet in, pretty much guaranteeing an infection, or cut it out, without the benefit of sterile equipment, again probably resulting in infection.

“Ah, this would take 15 minutes to patch back home,” he complained bitterly, “here I’m gonna die of sepsis.”

The door opened suddenly and Rufus hurried in, clutching his knapsack.

“Did you get it?” Lucy demanded anxiously.

“Yeah.” 

Okay. Good. Wyatt lowered himself gingerly to one of the twin beds, biting off a cry of pain as the movement pulled at the wound. He leaned back onto the pillow with a huff of breath. Now for the fun part.

“Nnng. Rufus, you’re up.” He shifted his hips, trying to find a comfortable position. “My knife’s in the pocket,” he gestured vaguely at where he’d dropped his coat on the floor, “you gotta sterilise it over the lamp.”

He rested his head back on his arm, closing his eyes and pushing out a deliberate breath, trying to breathe through the pain. He sensed, rather than saw, Rufus stiffen.

“Umm... what?”

He raised his head to look at Rufus. “The bullet’s still in there,” he explained. “It’s just under the skin but you gotta take it out.”

“Why me?” Rufus balked.

“Because you work with your hands!” Wyatt told him, not a little impatiently. It wasn’t like he hadn’t thought this through. Realistically, neither Wyatt nor Lucy had any experience of field medicine but of the two of them at least Rufus was used to doing delicate manual work so, in Wyatt’s considered opinion, he was the best choice.

Rufus apparently didn’t agree. “Yeah, on circuit boards!” he argued desperately.

Wyatt gave him an incredulous look. They really didn’t have time for this. “Think of me as a circuit board!” he snapped. He hunched forward a little, muttering, “...that’s gonna die if you don’t help...” as he propped the pillow up against the headboard behind him.

Rufus cast a pleading look at Lucy but she shook her head, “Don’t look at me. I faint.” She handed him the knife she’d retrieved from Wyatt’s jacket.

Wyatt leaned back against the pillow with a groan as Rufus reluctantly took the knife and lifted the cover off the gas lamp. He turned up the flame and began to unpack the bottle of iodine and other supplies from his bag. 

As Rufus held the knife blade in the guttering flame Lucy paced anxiously at the foot of the bed, the three of them talking through what they knew of Flynn’s agenda and what the hell he was trying to achieve here. Wyatt kept one hand pressed lightly to his wound as they talked, the effort of lifting his head off the pillow to talk to Lucy making him wince.

The conclusion they came to was not good. Flynn was going to use the modern weaponry he’d brought with him to ensure that Booth’s conspiracy succeeded in killing not only Lincoln but Johnson, Seward, and Grant too. The consequences were unimaginable. All the more reason for Wyatt to want this bullet out asap. As Lucy said, they were gonna need him.

Lucy left to go make sure Grant got out of town as planned, leaving Rufus to look after Wyatt.

With a grimace, Wyatt wriggled down until he was laying fairly flat, his shoulders supported by the pillow. He blew out a heavy breath. This was gonna suck.

Rufus didn’t look exactly thrilled either. He wiped the knife on a cloth to clean off any residue from the flame, and hesitated for a moment, his gaze fixed unhappily on the messy gunshot wound. 

“This is gonna be the worst game of Operation ever, “ he muttered darkly.

Wyatt lay still, one hand resting loosely against the headboard of the bed, and tried to breathe evenly. He looked away as Rufus approached with the knife but couldn’t resist breaking the tension a little, making a sudden “zzzt” sound just as Rufus was about to start his incision. Rufus flinched, jerking the knife away, and Wyatt huffed a shaky laugh at his reaction, a brief moment of respite in the face of what was to come, before gesturing for Rufus to resume with a whispered, “Go on.”

Closing his eyes, he turned his head away, trying to breathe slow and steady, to hold himself ready without tensing up. Although expected, the slice of the blade into his flesh made him flinch and grunt, his shoulders tensing at the sharp sting of pain cutting through the throbbing ache of his wound.

“Sorry, sorry...” Rufus was nervous, hesitant, and pulled away at Wyatt’s reaction, having made only a shallow incision.

Wyatt turned his head. “Don’t be sorry,” he ordered, “just get it done.” He glanced down at the shallow cut. Blood was oozing along the uneven line.

He let his head drop back to the pillow, his breathing already ragged. “Press harder,” he said, “and just... just don’t stop.” He met Rufus’ anxious gaze. “Just keep going and it’ll be over and done with all the quicker, okay?”

Rufus nodded shakily. “Okay.”

Wyatt breathed deep and closed his eyes, bracing himself.

“Okay, okay,” Rufus muttered quietly to himself. “Here we go...”

This time the blade pushed in deep and pulled along and Wyatt found himself groaning helplessly, his hands balling into fists, panting for breath.

“Oh jesus...” Rufus sounded sick.

“Don’t... don’t stop...” Wyatt gritted, his jaw clenching.

The pull of the knife continued, a white hot line of pain dragging along his flesh until he felt the blade catch and grind against something solid.

“Nnnng...”

“I...I’ve got it!” Rufus cried excitedly.

“Yeah,” he agreed tightly. “Now get it out.”

“H.. how.. how do I do that?”

Wyatt rolled his head on the pillow and opened his eyes. Rufus was crouched beside the bed, the bloodied knife clutched in his hand and a look of helpless panic on his face.

Wyatt tried to get his breathing under control. 

“Reach in there... and grab a hold of it,” he said, as calmly as he could.

“Oh god,” Rufus’ had turned a greyish colour. “With my finger?!”

“Yes, with your finger!”

“Oh god...” Rufus cringed, screwing his eyes up, as he reluctantly extended a finger towards the open wound he’d just made. Wyatt turned away, fixing his gaze on the ceiling, trying to breathe through the wash and ebb of pain. He could feel blood welling from the incision, trickling down his skin and pooling wetly on the bedsheet.

Rufus’ finger was a blunt pressure, pushing into the centre of the throbbing pain.

“Nyaargh...” Wyatt’s entire body tensed, his jaw clenching so hard it made his teeth ache. The pressure shifted, bringing with it fresh waves of pain, as Rufus probed for the bullet.

“Sorry, sorry, ewww, sorry...” Rufus kept up a litany of muttered, anxious apology as he worked until, “I... oh, I got it, I got it...” 

Wyatt moaned, his legs shifting restlessly as Rufus tried to get a grip on the bullet.

“Hold still... shit! Sorry, sorry... it’s really slippery...”

Wyatt huffed out choked-off laugh that was turned into more of a sob.

“Oh god, ewww..... I’m gonna be sick...” Rufus moaned.

Wyatt’s arm flailed reflexively, his fist opening and closing. “Please don’t,” he whispered tightly.

“Okay, okay, I’ve got it... nearly there... easy...”

It felt like his side was on fire and Wyatt’s vision began to grey out a little, his breath coming in ragged gasps. The ceiling above him blurred and wobbled and when he came back to himself, Rufus was pressing a wadded cloth to his side, a look of relief on his face.

“I got it.” He swallowed, looking nervous. “Now what?”

Wyatt licked dry lips. “Gotta clean it,” he rasped, “and disinfect”.

“Okay so...” Rufus looked around uncertainly.

Wyatt gestured at the water jug and basin on the dresser. “Flush it out with water.” 

“Water, right.” Rufus stood up, hesitated for a moment, then took Wyatt’s hand and placed it over the folded cloth. “Just hold that there for a minute.” Leaving Wyatt to keep pressure on the wound, he hurried to the water jug.

As Rufus poured some water out into the basin and carried it carefully over to the bed, Wyatt craned his neck and lifted the cloth enough to get a look underneath. The incision was ragged and uneven, skin tension pulling the edges of the cut apart. Blood was still oozing, welling up more quickly without the pressure of the wadded cloth. He pressed the cloth back into place and, with a grunt, let his head fall back on the pillow.

Rufus set the basin down next to the bed and dipped a clean cloth into the water. Wyatt watched wearily as Rufus lifted the dripping cloth and squeezed it over the open wound, letting the water run into the incision. It wasn’t as effective as flushing it properly with a syringe but, given the circumstances, it would have to do. He dipped the cloth again and repeated, pink-tinged water trickling out of the incision and soaking into the bedsheets, cold and clammy against Wyatt’s skin.

“Think that’s about as good as we’re gonna get,” Rufus decided after a third squeeze of water. 

Wyatt shifted uncomfortably; the wound throbbed angrily, a hot pulse of pain that made his breath catch. “Now we gotta disinfect it,” he instructed. “Get the iodine.”

Rufus looked apprehensively at the bottle sitting on the nightstand. “Won’t... won’t that hurt?” he queried.

Wyatt nodded, breathed carefully. “Yeah.”

Rufus stared at him for a long moment. “Okay...” he said, reluctantly. 

Wyatt swallowed. “You gotta dilute it,” he warned as Rufus reached for the bottle. He closed his eyes for a moment, listening to the gurgle as Rufus poured iodine into the basin of water.

“You realise I have no idea how much I’m supposed to be adding,” Rufus commented ruefully.

He opened his eyes. The dark brown liquid swirled and billowed in the basin, blossoming out and turning the water a pale brownish colour. “It’s fine,” he said. “That’ll do.”

Rufus dipped his cloth into the watery solution and wrung it out carefully.

He met Wyatt’s gaze. “You ready?” he hesitated.

Wyatt gave a half-hearted grin. “As I’ll ever be.”

Rufus shook his head ruefully and bit his lip. “Okay,” he murmured, more to himself than to Wyatt, “let’s do this.”

Taking a deep breath, he quickly swabbed the iodine-soaked cloth over and around the wound. Wyatt tensed, wincing at the burning sting as the antiseptic came into contact with raw flesh. He hissed in a breath, his fist clenching around a handful of bedsheet.  
Rufus worked fast, cleaning all around the wound with swift strokes, dipping the cloth and wringing it out again.

“Inside...”

“What?” Rufus looked up.

“You gotta clean inside too,” Wyatt gritted.

“Iodine inside an open wound. Are you crazy?” Rufus argued.

“No,” he huffed, the sharp sting of the antiseptic leaving him breathless. “But we don’t have any antibiotics... or sterile equipment... and I... really don’t wanna die of sepsis.” He looked Rufus in the eye. “Iodine’s all we got.”

“Shit.” Rufus looked positively nauseous.

“Yeah,” Wyatt agreed. He let his head fall back, tried to slow his breathing. “Just... do it quick.”

To his credit, Rufus did exactly that. He pressed the cloth over the wound and swept it quickly along the length in one smooth movement. The pain was immediate, a hot, angry flare of agony that made Wyatt’s back arch and his breath catch in his throat. He cried out, tears leaking from his screwed shut eyes. His entire body was rigid, every muscle tensed up in agony. “Sonofabitch!” he cursed tightly.

It took a long moment for the burst of pain to begin to ebb, leaving Wyatt breathless and trembling. He blinked open his eyes to find Rufus, looking positively grey, pressing a clean folded cloth to the wound.

“It’s still bleeding,” he fretted.

“Yeah,” Wyatt’s voice came out raw and shaky. “It’s gonna need stitches.”

“Oh man...” Rufus’ shoulders sagged.

“Hey.” Wyatt’s head felt heavy as he lifted it from the pillow to look Rufus in the eye. “You’re doing great. You got this.”

Rufus huffed out a slightly hysterical laugh. “If you say so...”

Wyatt lifted a shaky hand to hold the cloth in place while Rufus fetched the needle and thread. What he wouldn’t have given for a needle driver and a proper suture kit but they were going to have to make do with what Rufus had been able to find at the general store – a straight sewing needle, a pair of pliers... and a reel of cotton thread.

Cotton thread. Okay. Need to do something about that...

He watched as Rufus took several attempts to thread the needle. So much for steady hands... He briefly thought about making a joke of it but he figured Rufus really wasn’t in the mood.

On about the fourth try, Rufus got it. “Okay, now what?”

“Cut off a good length of thread...” he waited as Rufus followed his instructions, “then you gotta soak the whole thing in the iodine.”

“More iodine?”

He huffed out a laugh at Rufus’ dismay. “Unless you got a better way to sterilise cotton thread?”

Rufus grimaced. “No... not really...” He laid the needle and thread into the bowl of iodine, letting it soak for a moment before lifting it out and pinching the thread, pulling the length of it through his grip to squeeze out the liquid.

“Okay,” Wyatt took a breath. “We’re gonna do one stitch at a time. I’ll talk you through it...”

With a grimace, he wriggled a little further up the bed, hissing at the flare of pain the movement caused. With the pillow supporting his shoulders, he lifted his head and moved the cloth pad away so he could see the wound.

“Grip the needle with the pliers, about two-thirds of the way down,” he told Rufus. “We’re gonna start at the bottom end of the wound... and we’re gonna do this in two steps, okay?”

He watched as Rufus got the needle ready and nodded unhappily.

He licked dry lips. “You need to push the needle through just one side of the wound. Go in just a couple millimetres from the edge of the wound... and then angle it... and push it through.”

Rufus swallowed, his mouth twisting with distaste, but he did as Wyatt instructed, leaning in with the needle gripped in the pliers. Wyatt gave a grunt as the needle pushed into his flesh, tensing up to stop himself from flinching. He watched, grimacing, as Rufus pushed down with the pliers, angling the needle upwards until it poked out through the edge of the wound.

“Okay, now what?” Rufus asked anxiously.

Wyatt breathed heavily for a moment. “Grip the tip of the needle with the pliers... and pull it all the way out... carefully!” His voice came out tight and breathless. 

“Okaaay... got it.”

“Now reset the needle... grip it with the pliers two-thirds of the way down.” He took a breath. “And go into the other side of the wound... and push up through the skin.”

“Oh man,” Rufus cringed as he pushed the needle in through the ragged edge of the wound. “This sucks...”

Wyatt huffed out a short laugh. “Tell me about it,” he agreed roughly.

The needle broke through the skin and Wyatt watched as Rufus grabbed the tip with the pliers and carefully pulled it out.

“Now pull the thread through,” he instructed, “until you have just a few inches left.”

He let his head drop back on the pillow, concentrating on slowing his breathing, as Rufus carefully drew the thread through. 

“Is that okay? Is that enough thread?”

Wyatt lifted his head to look. “That’s fine,” he said. “Now put the pliers in the middle, between the two lengths of thread... open them up slightly... that’s it. Now take the long end of the thread, the one with the needle, and loop it around the pliers twice.”

He watched as Rufus carefully followed his instructions.

“Okay... now grip the short end of the thread with the pliers... that’s it... and slide the loops off the pliers. And pull it tight... That’s it.”

He smiled tiredly. “You did it, Rufus. That’s a knot.”

Rufus gave him a grin that was a mixture of relief and nausea.

Wyatt laid his head back on the pillow. “Now do that again three more times, but with just one loop around the pliers, got it?”

“Yeah, yeah... I got it...” Rufus was getting the hang of it now, wrapping the thread around the pliers and sliding it off neatly to form a knot. Wyatt lifted his head to watch as the final knot was tied.

“Okay. That’s one stitch. So cut off the thread, as close to the knot as you can... good.” He gave a wry grin. “Now you just gotta repeat all that about ten more times...”

Rufus’ smile of achievement turned sickly. 

Wyatt laid back and closed his eyes as Rufus started on the second stitch, doing his best to ignore the pain and pressure of the needle pushing through his flesh. He focused on breathing... in and out... in and out...

Fatigue was starting to creep up on him, pain and tension leaving his body weary and aching. He could feel himself starting to drift a little as Rufus pulled the knots tight.

“Ewww...” Rufus’ murmur of disgust, as much as the pinch of pressure/pain from the needle, roused him from his daze. 

“You okay?” he asked, not opening his eyes.

Rufus huffed in disbelief? “Am I okay? I’m not the one having surgery without anaesthetic!”

Wyatt winced as the needle broke through the skin.

“This is disgusting, by the way,” Rufus continued. “It’s a miracle I haven’t thrown up on you.”

Wyatt smiled. “Glad you haven’t,” he murmured. “Not very sanitary...”

“Nothing about this is sanitary,” Rufus argued. “You should have a doctor doing this, someone who knows what they’re doing, not me...”

Wyatt opened his eyes and lifted his head. “Hey, you’re doing great,” he said seriously. “I’m better off in your hands than any kind of doctor they’ve got in 1865.” He smiled as he laid his head back. “Not especially keen on getting leeched, ya know?”

Rufus grimaced at the thought, his brow furrowed in concentration as he tied off another stitch.

Wyatt’s thoughts wandered as he lay still, trying not to flinch with each push and pull of the needle. Rufus really was doing a good job, considering the materials they had available to them. But if they had to make any more of these trips he was going to insist on a fully-stocked medical kit being kept in the lifeboat, and ideally some basic field triage lessons for Rufus and Lucy.

“Nnggh,” he jerked at an unexpectedly sharp stab of pain.

“Sorry, sorry!” Rufus apologised anxiously. “Needle slipped...”

Wyatt breathed out carefully. “It’s fine,” he reassured. “You’re doing fine.”

Rufus huffed disbelievingly, a bark of humourless laughter. Wyatt lifted his head to get a look at Rufus’ work. It was a mess, that was for sure – the incision was ragged, the stitches messy and unevenly placed – but it did the job and that was what mattered. The wound was nearly closed, just a couple more stitches and they’d be done. He began to wonder what was taking Lucy so long... how long had she been gone anyway? He chafed at being laid up here, being patched up, while she was out there alone. What if she ran into Garcia?

He watched with a grimace as Rufus carefully tied off the final stitch and trimmed off the thread.

“Is it unsanitary if I throw up on you now?” Plainly relieved to be done with his stint as a doctor, Rufus practically threw down the needle and scissors and rushed to wash his hands.

Wyatt laid his head back on the pillow, shifting uncomfortably, testing out how the stitches felt when he moved, when suddenly the door opened and Lucy rushed in, a large box under her arm. Ignoring the twinge in his side, Wyatt pushed himself up to lean on his elbows.

“You went shopping?” he asked.

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Okay so this may not fit in entirely with canon... in the episode Wyatt does reference Rufus having gone for “supplies” and Rufus does return and take a bottle out of his bag... but I’m not sure it’s iodine... in fact it looks more like it could be whiskey?! And if they did have iodine it would surely have made more sense to sterilise the knife with iodine rather than just heating it over the lamp? 
> 
> But given that they didn’t have Rufus even wash his hands before performing impromptu surgery, I’m going to ignore the troubling aspects of canon and fanwank that Wyatt knows enough about basic first aid/field triage to have told Rufus to get some kind of antiseptic and, given the time period, iodine would probably have been the best/easiest option.
> 
> I’m also playing a bit fast and loose with the medical stuff because really iodine should not be used inside a wound as it’s too strong and can actually damage tissue... but I couldn’t resist the delicious whump and I’m going to fanwank that Wyatt does know that but, given their limited medical options, figured it was preferable to sepsis. 
> 
> Also when Rufus goes to wash his hands in the episode, the jug and basin of water are on the dresser but tbh if they were gonna make any attempt to properly clean and stitch Wyatt's wound they would have needed water so I am going to ignore that bit too! :lol:
> 
> There will be a second chapter to this fic, covering Wyatt's return to present day. :)


End file.
